Count Lloyd Asplund arrived precisely on time.
His gaze drifted not toward weapons, but toward the palace itself—the marble pillars, the vaulted ceilings, the gold inlays worked into every surface.
"Extravagant," he murmured appreciatively. "Utterly inefficient… and therefore delightful."
Cécile Croom followed a step behind, unimpressed.
The governor's palace had been prepared with excess bordering on parody. Chandeliers blazed like artificial suns, silk banners hung from the walls, and tables groaned beneath the weight of imported delicacies. Britannian high society filled the hall—nobles, generals, industrialists, senior administrators. The very spine of Area Eleven's ruling class.
Officially, they were here to celebrate.
The Shinjuku terrorists had been arrested.
Order had been restored.
Peace had prevailed.
Only those present in this hall had been informed. —an anonymous Eleven had chosen cooperation over chaos.
Once the final guests passed through the doors, they closed.
Softly.
Decisively.
The orchestra fell silent.
Prince Clovis stepped forward, standing before the throne, glass raised, smile practiced and radiant.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "thank you for joining me tonight."
Polite applause followed.
"We are here to celebrate stability. To celebrate peace restored in Area Eleven thanks to the vigilance of our armed forces—and the cooperation of loyal citizens."
Another wave of applause.
Clovis raised a hand, cutting it short. "I will not bore you with a long speech. Instead, I would like to invite someone to speak on behalf of our shared future."
A pause.
"Please welcome… our honored guest."
A man ascended the stage.
As he turned to face the crowd, every eye in the hall followed him.
That was the moment Lelouch Lamperouge had been waiting for.
Eye contact spread outward—effortless, deliberate.
The Geass ignited.
It spread like a silent wave, invisible and absolute, passing through the room faster than thought. Dozens—no, hundreds—of minds were caught in its grasp in the same instant.
No one screamed.
No one resisted.
Their wills folded.
"From this moment on, and for the rest of you life," Lelouch commanded, his voice calm and absolute,
"you will be loyal to me.
To Lelouch vi Britannia."
The sigil burned.
For an instant, the hall was frozen.
Then—
"All Hail Lelouch!"
The cry erupted spontaneously, violently, dozens of voices merging into one. Nobles, officers, executives—kneeling, shouting, exultant.
"All Hail Lelouch!
All Hail Lelouch!"
Clovis stepped aside without hesitation.
Lelouch ascended the steps.
And sat upon the throne.
---------------------------------------------------------
Minutes later, the music had been dismissed, the servants sent away, and the doors sealed once more.
The hall had transformed.
Where once there had been laughter and idle conversation, now there was focus. Nobles stood beside generals. Executives listened beside administrators. Lloyd leaned against a table, intrigued.
At the center sat Lelouch.
He took Clovis's place on the throne.
Villetta Nu stood behind him, hands resting on his shoulders, kneading with steady pressure. Her expression was blank, her movements efficient.
Lelouch spoke.
"Area Eleven is inefficient," he began simply. "Not unstable—inefficient."
No one interrupted.
"Reconstruction efforts are too slow," he continued. "Accelerate them. Prioritize infrastructure over symbolic projects. Roads, power grids, housing. I want visible change within months, not years."
Several officials nodded automatically, already committing the orders to memory.
"Second," Lelouch said, shifting slightly as Villetta adjusted her grip, "economic reform."
He let that linger.
"Grant Elevens greater economic freedom. Business permits, local enterprises, investment opportunities. Controlled, monitored—but real."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Lelouch raised a hand.
"You fear unrest," he said. "But poverty fuels extremism far more effectively than ideology. Opportunity will weaken terrorist recruitment and increase productivity. A growing economy benefits Britannia as much as it benefits them."
The logic was flawless.
"And if some Elevens become wealthy?" he added coolly. "Good. They'll have something to lose."
No objections.
"Third—media policy."
The screens along the walls flickered to life, displaying recent broadcasts.
"From now on," Lelouch said, "terrorist attacks will be reported fully. Britannian casualties and Eleven casualties alike."
Several faces stiffened.
"You will humanize the victims," he continued. "All of them. Show grief. Show loss. Terrorism must be seen not as rebellion—but as tragedy."
He leaned forward slightly.
"If Elevens see their own people suffering because of terrorists, support will erode. And if Britannians see Elevens suffering, resentment will soften."
Silence.
Then agreement.
"Fourth—innovation."
Lelouch's gaze slid toward Lloyd.
"Count Asplund."
Lloyd blinked. "Oh? Yes?"
"Your projects will receive increased funding," Lelouch said. "Full access to military data, unrestricted testing environments."
Lloyd's eyes lit up. "Splendid."
"And," Lelouch added, "all data currently shared with Prince Schneizel will be copied and transmitted to me."
Lloyd tilted his head, considering.
"…Ah. That is a problem. Or it would be, if I objected."
He smiled brightly.
"I don't."
Lelouch turned his attention elsewhere.
"Nina Einstein's research will receive similar support. Priority classification. Discretion."
The officials nodded.
Throughout it all, Villetta's hands never stopped.
"Fifth: justice."
His tone sharpened.
"The terrorists of Shinjuku will not be executed."
Several heads lifted in surprise.
"They will be sentenced to life of forced labor," Lelouch continued. "They will build the roads they destroyed. Restore the districts they burned."
A pause.
"Dead men become martyrs. Broken men become warnings."
The room accepted it instantly.
"One final matter," Lelouch said.
"You will wait for my signal before announcing the capture of the Shinjuku terrorists to the public."
He wanted C.C. to come to him first.
The thought of Ohgi and the others brought a faint smirk to his lips.
I wonder how they would react, he thought, if they knew their own friend was the one who sold them to the military.
Lelouch allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence.
"This," he thought, "is how you conquer a nation."
Not with armies.
Not with terror.
You just take control of the system.
When he finished, the room remained silent.
Then Clovis spoke, voice reverent.
"We will proceed immediately."
Lelouch rose.
"This meeting never occurred," he said. "Tonight was merely a celebration."
Music returned. Glasses were raised. Laughter resumed.
And seated among them—nobles, soldiers, scientists, rulers—Lelouch allowed himself to enjoy the evening.
Their loyalty.
Their fear.
Their devotion.
Area Eleven was no longer a problem to solve.
It was a system he already controlled.
And this—
—this was only the beginning.